


The Road Ahead

by orphan_account



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Ambiguity, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Overthinking it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In darkness it felt harder to find the courage to move forward, yet fear pulled eyes closed shut. Would it really be so simple to open them up?





	The Road Ahead

The sensation of watching colours blossom behind eyelids seemed immeasurable. Timeless, if not for the fleeting, flickering warmth touching his face and a vague sense of movement offsetting his own stillness. The odd bump or jump vibrating through the seat, stealing away the dream almost within reach. Not to mention the omnipresent body heat beside him, radiating in harmony with the knowledge that Aoi was right _there_ ; soft snores in a steady rhythm. Clocks ticked, wheels turned and better men slept. What Uruha refused to see, he could feel well enough.

The only escape was the thoughtless, monotonous near-meditation, a state shattered by the brush of a knee against his own and the accompanying pang of guilt. Aoi was still stuck in his skin-tight jeans, stale with sweat from all he gave under glaring lights. Every ounce of his being poured into the music, each note and each taunt from the depth of his very soul. To the point of collapse, half dressed and drooling into the floor.

Uruha often wondered if the fans knew exactly how much the rhythm guitarist gave, though on reflection it wasn’t exactly generosity. The screams, the adoration was a potent narcotic. It was giving to get, yet still beautiful.

Imperfection was a sign of reality. Tangibility. So in that sense it only added to the appeal, making an angel seem as tangible as the soft exhales tingling the skin around his ear.

“Hey. Uruha,” Aoi whispered, hand sliding onto Uruha’s thigh. “Are you awake?”

Uruha allowed his eyes to flutter open.

“Nope.”

Aoi rolled his eyes and leaned back into his seat, though his hand stayed in it’s borderline dangerous position in assumed ignorance. Uruha found his lip was twitching to the side. Not a smile. Not quite, even as his heart began to race. The morning sunlight that filtered through the trees allowed brief glimpses of the bags under the rhythm guitarist’s eyes, the day-old eyeliner and the loose skin of a lip too often bitten. Tangible. Touchable. Kissable.

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”Aoi asked, brows furrowed and lips pursed. 

Uruha gave a little shrug, trying to shake away every little thought. . 

“Not much,” he answered, half truths. 

Met with a grimace, the usual and reassuring morning attitude surfacing. Frown far too full, far too lush.

“Well, you should.”

The departure of the hand and due return of distance certainly helped put a lid on lingering lip-related thoughts. Distance was comfortable. Distance was safe. A hands width, an inch, the length of a stage. The distance from phone to phone, city to city. So long as he knew where the other was, it seemed preferable to the confrontation of touch.

Uruha cocked his head to the side, watching with interest as Aoi glanced at the bite-sized sleeping bear beside him. Then at the seasoned hands drilling an endless beat into the hand of the steering wheel, and the source of snores in the passenger seat; where low chatter would usually be.

“I’d rather not sleep,” Uruha said, eyes flitting up to the rear-view mirror. Eyes locked, the driver’s narrowing at the change in volume. “We’re stopping soon, are we not?” 

The head reflected nodded to the soft beat restless feet and hands, a finger lifted across thin lips. An exorcist crossing himself at the thought of waking the demon.

Aoi groaned softly, lost in disregard. The back of his head thumped against seat’s back. 

“Somewhere with coffee, right?,” he grumbled, arms folded across his chest. “Wouldn’t want anyone to die because I nodded off.” 

A wide-eyed Kai shrugged before he pointedly mouthed an explicit rendition of ‘please be quiet’ at both guitarists. 

Briefly, the soundscape reduced to the inane tapping and various breathing patterns of the band and staff; wheels on the highway and the general putter expected of a seven-seater monstrosity. Uruha fondly noted that the lack of cute, stunted snores was indeed to the detriment of the general Road-Tour Experience™. 

And presented other problems. The shift of the body beside him, inching closer. Glances, eyes locked before breaking the gaze. The subtle invitations that had Uruha second guessing seemed to grow and grow over the months until they’d become seismic waves. They shaped the landscape, creating the ideal climate for some kind of confession. If not for nagging doubts, accusations of hyperawareness and the simple reservation that was fear itself.

Something to dwell on as he donated his own contribution to the noise pollution, the sound of a heavy head coming to rest against the window. How exactly was the glass was always cool, come any manner of weather? The sun grew in intensity as forest thinned, the open space the rice paddies the van whirred past creating a hotbeat of heat and yet there was no heat from the glass.

Uruha closed his eyes.

Was that, perhaps how Aoi would feel about him? That no matter the concentration of willpower, the signals and signs he threw, he was met with cold indifference? One could only turn up the volume so loud before the speakers gave way entirely. Did he have a limited window to act, to break the radio silence of his own emotional expression? Did everything always come back to Aoi? From late night documentaries to the scent of caffeine wafting onto a street; from all manner of black-feathered birds pecking away in the urban jungle to slightly cool windows on summer mornings.

The answer was resoundingly a head moving to rest upon his shoulder and the low, hum-esque sound vibrating from the centre of Aoi’s throat. The vehicle turned and came to a slow, crawling into whatever stop-over Kai saw fit. 

“Wow. There’s fuck all here. Looks like you’ll have to be my coffee, Uru. Keep me awake, yeah?” Aoi drawled, low and slow. It was easy to envision the lazy smile on his face, making the most of precious few moments of relaxation left. “I’m not demanding, I promise. Your voice is enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is was supposed to be fluff, I don't know what happened.


End file.
